Codex Entry: Humor in Skyhold
by TouchOfIrony
Summary: With the Inquisition's mission set against taking down Corypheus and restoring order to Thedas, the stress sits heavily on everyone's shoulders. It shouldn't be too surprising, then, that when the Inquisitor and his Inner Circle are catching their breaths in Skyhold, they find ways to amuse themselves.
1. The Battle of Skyhold

**Hey everyone, old fan fic writer coming out of retirement after a few years. I used to write when I was much younger and got away from it for a while, but now I'm back due to a disturbing lack of humor-based content in what I think is one of 2014's funniest games, Dragon Age: Inquisition. The entire collection of fics for this game is so diluted with romance that I think it'd be great to add a bit of light-hearted comedy to the mix. There's no plot to any of this, no real continuity, and Inquisitors may change depending on the chapter's plot (though you should assume unless specified that the Inquisitor here is a male Human warrior).**

**Anyways, I hope you all enjoy! Please note that there will be spoilers scattered throughout, and due to the nature of the game, I can't really give warning about every single one. Just know that this one will reveal everything up to speaking with Varric's friend when you first get to Skyhold.**

* * *

The ruins of Skyhold were curiously well preserved, though the Inquisitor accounted that mostly to the steep heights and harsh cold preventing any wandering adventurers from ransacking the place. Sure, there was rubble everywhere, most of the walls were crumbling if not completely dilapidated, and he'd overheard rumors that the entire fortress was haunted (though he assumed those rumors were because of Cole, and he made a mental note to take care of that immediately). But for now, and until they found someplace better, this would be the home of the new Inquisition.

As newly-declared Lord Inquisitor, he made it his current mission to survey the grounds upon which he now called his domain. Everyone seemed to be settling in rather nicely, for the most part and construction efforts were going well.

Cullen seemed especially pleased about the new War Room, citing the excellent new lighting aesthetics. Leliana was excited by her new base of operations in the Rookery, though the Inquisitor himself couldn't stand the constant echo of those birds for more than a few minutes. He could only wonder how she withstood it through the entire working day. And of course, Josephine contented her new location where she could more properly serve as secretary of the Inquisition, though he secretly suspected it was because she had immediate access to a cozy fireplace at all times while she worked.

Still, their giddiness didn't fully mask the pain that he knew they were all feeling. Haven was a great loss. The screams of pain and agony that could be heard coming from the little clearing where they had set up the medical tents stood as a testament to that. The Inquisitor was drawn to them, like a moth to fire, and he stood on the steps overlooking them. His eyes hardened a bit as his hands grasped the cold stone railing tightly.

Corpyheus had dealt them a seriously blow, and the doubts were already beginning to bubble up in his mind.

The fact of the matter was that he was no Andrastian faithful. He'd gone through life hearing the stories and the Chants and just letting it become useless background noise. There was nothing in his background that made him the least bit qualified to lead a full blown Inquisition. Cassandra was ten times more capable, but... Damned by the Maker, he was it. It had to be him, they said. He'd won the hearts and minds of the people.

He looked somberly down at the tents below him as the surgeon slid a cloak over yet another body. He'd won their hearts but lost them their lives. How many lives, he wondered, had been lost at Haven? He'd saved as many as he could, but there were still so many dead. How many more would come?

"You know, it's a bad idea to look so damn down like you do while standing on a high place. Makes people think you're gonna jump."

The Inquisitor spun around quickly, hand over his heart. "Maker, Varric, you nearly scared me out of my skin!"

The dwarven rogue simply shrugged. He brushed off some of the snow that had fallen the night before to clear a place for him to sit down on the piece of wall next to where the Inquisitor had been previously leaning. "Yeah, well, it was either that or let you stew in your own misery like everyone else."

The Inquisitor sighed. "I think that a bit of stewing is appropriate for the moment, Varric. You can't say that we can just go about our lives pretending like everything is going to go back to normal."

Varric frowned in slight disapproval. "Isn't that the entire point of this Inquisition? To put everything back to normal?" Before the Inquisitor could clarify, Varric continued. "Look, I know what you're getting at. What happened at Haven..." He trailed off, his eyes landing on the camp of the dead and dying. "It can't ever be forgotten. It would be be a disservice to everyone that died. But you know why they died Inquisitor? It wasn't because of you, or anything you or anyone else did. The only person that can be damned is Corypheus. If he stays dead long enough, that is."

The Inquisitor offered a dry chuckle. "I suppose. And here I thought you said Hawke was good at killing."

"Hah!" Varric chuckled in return. "Well don't forget I did say some things I said about the Champion of Kirkwall were a bit exaggerated... Though I wasn't expecting that was going to be one of the exaggerations."

After a moment, the dwarf added, "Look, all I'm saying is that these people... they need you to turn things back to normal for them. Even now. Especially now. A bit of normalcy goes a long way in improving morale."

The pair sat together in contemplative silence, pierced only by the gusts of the freezing mountain winds and the low groan of the pained below. Suddenly, their ears picked up another noise, one that sounded like very colorful swearing. Very colorful swearing unfit for the mouth of one of Andraste's faithful. Even if she was a Seeker.

Varric sighed. "I guess some things just don't change. We should probably see what's got Seeker's panties in a twist this time."

The Inquisitor grimly nodded as he led Varric down the steps towards where he'd last seen Cassandra, over by where the quartermaster was supposed to set up. "Now what could upset the dear Lady Seeker so much as to spark an outburst like that?"

* * *

The pair didn't so much find Cassandra as they did intercept her in the midst of an epic quest to outright murder somebody. The three fell into a crumbled heap of limbs after Cassandra ran into them as she rounded the corner. After getting back up on their feet, the Inquisitor spoke first. "Cassandra, we heard you from all the way in the other courtyard, what's going on?"

The Seeker was, to say the least, disheveled, which was very unusual for her outside of a fight. Snow clung to her body, the damp appearing to set in everywhere if her shivering was any indication. "Where is that little coward? I'll kill him!" Given that her sword was drawn, the Inquisitor decided to take the threat seriously.

Varric smiled amusedly. "For once, I don't think she's talking about me."

"Keep stalling me and I'll punt you off the ramparts, Varric," Cassandra snarled. She whirled around and searched for her invisible quarry. "Now where is he!?"

"Where is who, Cassandra?" the Inquisitor asked, more concerned than Varric was about the potential threat. It wasn't serious enough for Cassandra to call the guards, but an angry Seeker running around with a sword was not something he should be treating lightly.

"The bastard that dumped all this snow on my head!"

"The... what?" Varric and the Inquisitor shared a look before he continued. "Care to start from the beginning?"

Cassandra, to her credit, was able to calm herself down enough with a deep breath. She sheathed her sword, much to the Inquisitor's relief, and crossed her arms before she explained. "I was over by the new quartermaster's building coordinating with some of the men Cullen had sent over to build the armory. All of a sudden, something struck me from the back of my head! Something very cold. I turned around and got hit with a second snowball!"

There was a pregnant pause as they all processed what had just happened to the Seeker. "Someone hit you... with a snowball." Varric snorted. "Whoever did it has got to be either the bravest or the stupidest person I have ever heard of."

"Has to be the bravest person," Cassandra bit back as she fixed a withering glare on Varric. "The stupidest one was this dwarf I once knew that lied to me about the Champion of Kirkwall."

Varric let out a sigh as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Never gonna let that one go, are you Seeker?"

The Inquisitor cleared his throat and changed the topic back to this rather bizarre snowballing incident. "So, Cassandra, let me get this straight. Someone hit you... with a snowball?"

"Yes, and I will not rest until justice is served!"

"... Don't you think you're overreacting a bit?"

"Of course not!"

"You were running around the camp with your sword drawn."

"Well, I..." The Seeker's fury finally lost its steam as she looked down at the snow covered grass, kicking it lightly with her boot. "I suppose. No, you're absolutely right, Inquisitor. I've acted childishly. I do apolo-"

Her sincere apology was interrupted by yet another snowball to the back of the head. In a flash, steel scraped scabbard as she charged off in the direction that latest snowball had come from, yelling the fiercest war cry either Varric or the Inquisitor had heard her give. After the shock wore off, they quickly followed after her before she actually killed someone.

* * *

When they had finally caught up to the Seeker, Cassandra had cornered her prey over by where workers were building the new tavern. Said workers had now formed a loose circle around her and her foe, which Varric and the Inquisitor had to push through in order to get to the bottom of this mess. What they found was Cassandra holding Sera at sword point while Sera aimed at her... with a snowball.

"Why am I not surprised?" the Inquisitor mumbled under his breath as he stared at the two. "Sera, what are you doing with that snowball?"

"What do you think she's doing with it?" Cassandra accused, glaring at the elven rogue with nothing short of contempt. "Probably plotting her next attempt to humiliate me! But I've got you now, you little fiend!"

Sera, for her part, appeared almost insult. "Not even, ya twisty little sodder! I'm only looking for payback!"

The Inquisitor furled his eyebrows. If Sera was the culprit Cassandra was looking for, she was doing a terrible job of both not getting caught and of appearing innocent. "What's this about, Sera? Payback for what?"

"Some little piss ant whammed me in the back of the head with a snowball!" she spat out. "Not that it wasn't funny, mind you. I mean, I'm here one minute, doo doo doo, doing Sera things! Then, WHAM, I'm down there, snow all over my head. Just, snow, everywhere! That's not right!"

Her look of anger soon changed to one of mild amusement. "Well I mean, it could be. Snow is kinda funny. But it's not funny!" She paused for a moment to recollect herself. "It's snow! It's cold and I don't like it when it's not on someone else. At least if you're gonna blam me over the head, at least have the decency to let me hit back at you, yeah?"

Cassandra, Varric, and the Inquisitor all stared at the strange elven girl as if she'd grown a second head. "I think," said Varric to the Inquisitor, "it's safe to assume she's probably not the one that assaulted our poor Seeker."

"'Course I'm not!" Sera shot back at the dwarf, who simply raised his hands up acquiescently. "I might not get along well with the little sword princess over there-" At this, Cassandra muttered under her breath, "Sword princess?"- "But at least I have the decency to hit you with a snowball to your face! Or... in your face. In your snowballs? Well, if it's her, then I guess no real snowballs, unless she's one of those types, not that there's anything wrong with that if you are packin', sweetheart, but-"

"What are you even saying!?" Cassandra yelled at her, frustrated. She gave a second groan of anger before sheathing her sword. "Fine! You didn't throw that snowball, whatever! Then who did?"

Sera shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure, to be honest. I mean, I really got to hand it to them, I never even saw that coming. And that's coming from me.I see everything." She leered creepily over at the crowd of gathered workers, giggling to herself. "Everything."

Cassandra sighed and sheathed her sword and Sera lowered the hand holding the snowball. She turned over to the Inquisitor. "There's a miscreant on the loose, Your Worship. I suggest speaking with Commander Cullen and gathering what resources we can to hunt this pest down and exterminate him with due diligence!"

For once, Sera seemed to agree with the droll and serious Seeker. "I'm not normally one to agree with all this off-with-his-head crap, but yeah! Off with his head! Ooh, that is kinda fun to say."

Before the Inquisitor could respond, to their demands for someone's head, two fast bodies of white zoomed past either side of his head. The frosty wind that flew after them sent a shiver up his spine, but that couldn't quite compete with the shivers that the auras of seething rage coming off from either of the women gave him. Varric and the Inquisitor, along with the rest of the crowd, took a cautious step back.

Rather than draw their weapons, however, both Sera and Cassandra knelt down to gather some of the snow from off of the ground and formed them into little balls. Their arms reared back and chucked them angrily at where they thought their thus far unseen assailant was. The Inquisitor and Varric scanned the path of the snowballs to find them soaring towards someone. A very large someone. A very large someone with horns, who had been walking past the crowd of bystanders, apparently uninterested in what was going on.

Varric gulped beside the Inquisitor. "Well... Shit."

The effect was immediate. Iron Bull gave the two girls a smirk of amusement, underlined with a bit of contempt as he shook the snow from off his head. "So that's the game we're playing today, eh ladies?" Looking over to where his men were sitting nearby, he called out to them. "Chargers, on me!"

The Inquisitor tried to make his way towards Iron Bull to try and defuse the situation, but it was already well out of his hands. Bull had grabbed two large clumps of snow in his hands and, not even bothering to form them into balls, chucked them both at Cassandra and Sera, who were all but covered by the large masses. In addition to his two large volleys, Krem led Bull's Chargers in pelting the two as well, though with the crowd in the way, there was more than a bit of collateral amongs the gathered workers.

Those workers, confused as ever but somewhat welcome to the strange turn of events, returned fire on the Chargers, who soon turned their attentions fully on their new enemy. Cassandra and Sera, after pulling themselves out of their snowy tombs, agreed to an alliance and began to pelt the Iron Bull from the snow pile he had just covered them in.

"This is just insane!" Varric said to the Inquisitor as they both ducked under the arc of snowballs flying past them back and forth. "Is this really happening?"

"You're telling me!" the Inquisitor said back as he scanned for an exit. His eyes instead fell upon the form of Commander Cullen, military arm of the Inquisition, running up to the snowball fighting mass of people.

It was as if somebody had cast a spell to slow down time as he watched Cullen call out to the Inquisitor. "Your Worship!" he had yelled out. "What is going on?" Before any more could be said, a pair of snowballs pegged him first in his face and then in his... snowballs. The Inquisitor's head hung low as he saw soldiers declaring that their general had been attacked and soon entered the fray.

With a heavy sigh, the Inquisitor dragged himself out of the tangled, ice-throwing masses alongside Varric. They dusted themselves off and began to head towards Skyhold's keep. All around them, the fighting had spread as errant snowballs hit unintended targets, dragging them into the fight as well. It didn't help that some of the children that had gone up to help Mother Giselle had gotten distracted from their duties and joined as well.

"Well, Varric. I guess we have to be the adults around here. Let's go let them work this all off over a game of Wicked Grace." After no answer, the Inquisitor frowned and looked down at his companion, who was holding Bianca firmly in his hands. "... Varric?"

"They... they hit Bianca..." Varric murmured under his breath. The Inquisitor gulped. Oh no. "It is going to take hours for me to get the moisture off..."

"Now, Varric, let's not do anything rash..."

"You're all going to pay for this!" Varric yelled as he loaded a snowball into Bianca (somehow) and charged off to battle, firing into the crowd.

"Ow! Varric, I'm going to get you for that!"

"Seeker, wait, I wasn't aiming at you, I was trying to hit-"

"Hyaaa!"

The Inquisitor simply sighed as he slunk off into Skyhold Keep by himself. Maybe this'll be over after a midday nap.

* * *

It wouldn't be until the dinner bell rang that the fighting finally came to an uneasy armistice. The Inquisitor sat in his new quarters, mulling over the report that Cullen had delivered to him some time after dinner. With it came a note that apologized that he couldn't give it to him in person, due to a certain personal injury. The Inquisitor had simply chuckled and accepted the report without comment.

Bull's Chargers had taken up fighting positions in what was supposed to be the armory, but were soon driven out by a group of workers led by Sera and Cassandra. After taking the armory, however, it seemed as if Sera decided their alliance should be broken and a fight broke out between Cassandra and Sera's forces. They were later driven out by Bull's Chargers again, who had since rearmed and regrouped themselves.

Upon hearing of the fighting from the Inquisitor, Josephine had left her office to try and quell the fighting, but was soon sucked into it as a stray snowball struck her the moment she left the door. She then enlisted the aid with Leliana and soon, snowballs were raining down from the Rookery with surprising accuracy. Leliana's Rookery maintained a position of power throughout the day, but the amount of firepower varied as Leliana periodically sent out her agents to "assassinate" the key leaders of each faction by shoving snow down their breeches.

Solas and Dorian tried to end the fighting on their own by simply burning all of the snow away with their magic, but after being ambushed by Bull's Chargers, they resigned themselves to joining Vivienne on the still-under-construction balcony overseeing the entire keep. They spent the remainder of the day making commentary on the war as if it were the Grand Tourney.

Halfway through, Varric and Cassandra had joined forces and enlisted the aid of several Inquisition soldiers, who had conveniently forgotten that Cassandra was one of the instigators of the fighting. Together, they ousted Bull and his chargers once again from the frameworks of the armory who retreated to the safety of the tavern frameworks.

All in all, fighting had ground to a standstill by dinner anyways, so when Mother Giselle called for a ceasefire over a hot meal, it was universally accepted. The Inquisitor remembered sitting at his chair at the head of the table in pure bewilderment as members of the Inquisition, previously battering each other furiously with snowballs, had seemingly forgotten about everything and laughed and joked. Even Cassandra seemed to be in particularly high spirits, considering she was the one running around with a sword earlier.

The entire scene made the Inquisitor smile ever so slightly, something Varric made a point of calling him out loudly on. Soon, the dinner became a roast of the Inquisitor, who for the rest of the evening became known as the man who ran away from a perfectly good snowball fight.

Setting the report down, the Inquisitor softly chuckled to himself as he turned to face Cole. "I'm assuming you had a good reason for chucking a snowball at Cassandra?"

"You saw me." It wasn't a question. "Yet you said nothing."

True, the Inquisitor had seen Cole, right at the beginning when he had passed Cassandra by the quartermaster's new location. He had, of course, thought nothing of it. "I didn't think I needed to," he explained.

"But I needed to." Cryptic as always, it seemed. Cole hopped off the floor and sat down on the couch in front of the Inquisitor's temporary bed, a modest mattress placed on the wood flooring. "The hurting was hurting. It could only keep hurting. So I used the snow."

Ah. Cole had apparently had enough of everyone's downtrodden misery and so he instigated this little war to pick everyone's spirits up. "You know, there's easier ways of getting everyone's mind off what's been going on."

Cole shook his head vigorously. "No, not like the snow. The snow is always the same. It's always been the same. It's like me, it changes... But... It's still there. It's still me. We're all still snow inside."

And now he's lost me, thought the Inquisitor wryly. Cole continued before he had a chance to ask him for an explanation. "The snow... Has always been snow. Even when it's not. It goes up... then it becomes clouds. But it's still snow. Sky snow, fluffy and white. When it hurts, it comes down and covers everything. But it's still the same snow. Forever and since and will always continue to be."

Cole stood up suddenly and move towards the balcony in the Inquisitor's quarters. "Snow is sad. But so are people. And when it gets too sad, it comes down... But then it gets to go back up again."

"I... think I understand," said the Inquisitor as he stood up to follow Cole. He looked out into the vast mountainscape that his balcony had a tremendous view of. Cole was right. The people of the Inquisition were far too pent up, and that aggression boiled over today. Rather than end in a slight taken in the wrong way damaging relations with bloodshed, Cole helped prod it along with a little bit of snow.

As a light flurry began to float down from the clouds, the Inquisitor could hear singing coming from the courtyard. Mother Giselle was holding her nightly Chant for the faithful, and in the crowd below he could see many of the various combatants from the day's earlier fighting. He chuckled softly to himself. "Good work, Cole." He turned to face the elusive spirit, but found that he was now only talking to himself.

The Inquisitor shrugged and listened on as the notes of the Chant filled the sky.

* * *

**That's it for the first chapter. Please let me know what you think over PM and review! I'm open to suggestions for scenarios and hope to maintain a weekly posting schedule.**


	2. Earworm

**Hi again, back with another chapter! True to my word, it's been a week since my last one and while I haven't gotten any feedback, the amount of views is somewhat encouraging. Anyways, I won't stall any further, so here we go.**

**This week, Sera becomes victim to a rather catchy ear worm and takes things in her own hands. Some spoilers ahead for the Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts main quest and Iron Bull's companion quest.**

* * *

"So what do we have for today?" the Inquisitor asked as he placed his arms on the fine wood of the War Table. The early morning light filtered into the large circular room and illuminated the tiny battle figurines that stood almost in tribute to the forces actually in place as they fought for the Inquisition. Gathered around the table were all of the usual characters, Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine, their morning reports stacked in piles in their respective hands. Just as it had been back in Haven, his every morning was filled with battle and spy reports, along with whatever important gossip or diplomatic relations information that came from Josephine's end.

While he understood the importance of all these meetings, the Inquisitor couldn't help but wish that something interesting happened for once.

"News for you, Inquisitor," Josephine said, handing off her stack of papers first. "Your actions at Halamshiral have caused quite a stir. With Duke Gaspard dead and Empress Celine in charge alongside Briala, we can expect the full support of the Orlesian Army."

"That's certainly welcome news," the Inquisitor noted as he flipped through the reports. Looking to Cullen, he said, "Our army could certainly use the reinforcements."

Commander Cullen nodded as he handed over his reports to the Inquisitor. "Our troops have made significant gains pushing out the Red Templars out of the Free-Marches. With the backing of the Orlesian military, we can work with them in securing the Dales, particularly around the Exalted Plains. That's where their military is still dug in, and I hear distressing tales of blood magic at work in the region."

"I'll have my agents look into these rumors," added Leliana. She wrote a small note in her book before turning to the Inquisitor. "I can have those reports to you by the end of the week at the earliest. Now, moving on from that, I have an interesting report regarding that Sutherland lad you brought to us a few days ago. It seems that he and his men-"

The Spymaster was cut short by a loud noise from the hallway that led into the War Room. "Apologies, ma'am, the Council is in session, you can't go in there!"

"Sod it!" came the not so mysterious intruder. The Inquisitor sighed and turned to face the door, crossing his arms as he prepared to face their unwelcome guest. As if on cue, the chamber doors opened with a thunderous slam and a seething elven rogue approached the Inquisitor, apparently boiling over in rage. Just out of view, the two Inquisition soldiers that had the misfortune of trying to prevent Sera from entering the War Room were lying on the floor, unconscious. Hopefully.

"What is the meaning of this, Sera?" Commander Cullen growled out, walking around the War Table, visibly upset by the interruption.

"Oi, what is it with you hoity toity guards people?" Sera snapped back. "'Oi, you there, w'ats the meanin' of this intrusion? Do you be lookin' for trouble? 'Ave you no respect for authority?' Bloody get off!"

"Sera." The Inquisitor's tone was firm but nowhere near hostile. In the months of fighting alongside those in his Inner Circle, he had begun to intimately know the various quirks of his constant companions. Besides Cole, none were as unsettling to the unacquainted as Sera, undoubtedly the most skilled and reputed archer in the entire Inquisition. It was generally agreed that the elf would give Varric a run for his money for best shot in the Inquisition if it weren't for the dwarf's heavily modified custom crossbow.

At the mention of her name, the elf turned and mellowed her demeanor out somewhat. "Yeah, what?"

He resisted the urge to palm his face in his hands. "Was there something you needed?" Before Sera could reply, he added, "Something you needed that can't wait until after I decide the fates of thousands of soldiers who are currently waiting my orders?"

There was a momentary silence before Sera sighed. "Fiiiiine. I'll wait in your quarters, your Lordy Worshipyness."

As the elf left, less upset as she had been but still clearly bothered by something, the Inquisitor sighed and closed the door to the council chambers. He should have known better than to wish for something interesting to happen.

* * *

When the Inquisitor entered his chambers, he found Sera sitting on the his lavishly covered bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, still plagued by whatever it was that caused her to interrupt his morning meeting. He decided to ignore her for the moment, letting her stew like a child preparing to be scolded. He set the stack of reports his advisers had given him down on his desk and undid his formal gray coat, leaving him covered only by the white long sleeved undercloth. Draping that over his chair, he walked over and stared at Sera.

She stared back. He continued to stare. She kept staring back. Finally, his patience started to fizzle out and he cleared his throat. "Sera. You were the one that wanted to see me, weren't you?"

Sera threw her arms up in exasperation. "If that's how it is, then forget it!" she screamed, hopping off his bed and, perhaps on purpose, messing up his refined sheets and linens. "I thought of all the people I could ask to help, it would be you! But no, I guess you're like all the rest of those bloody twats down there singing! Just want to get a dig at lil' ole Sera!"

The Inquisitor frowned as he moved to block her exit from his chambers. "Wait a minute, Sera. Singing? What singing?"

She looked at him in confusion. "Wait, you mean you haven't heard? Down at the tavern? You came by the other day for a drink with Bull, I saw you!"

Now looking almost as confused as her, the Inquisitor shook his head as he crossed his arms but still maintained his position in front of the stairs leading out of his chambers. Knowing Sera, she'd take any chance to bolt out any second if she started to feel really frustrated. That is, after she had a cursory screaming match first, if her interactions with a couple of the others was any indicator.

"Sera, of course I heard singing. Maryden is always singing those songs of hers." The Inquisitor could see the ire starting to rise up in Sera. "Did something she sing about offend you?"

"Offended, Hell, I'm not offended," Sera murmured. "A taddy creeped out, yeah, but not... offended... Nobles get offended, all twisted up in knots over some pissy little thing. But this isn't little, though." She looked almost pleadingly at the Inquisitor. "She's singing songs about me! And it's driving me crazy!"

The Inquisitor frowned and started to lead her towards the nearby balcony. She seemed to have calmed down a bit. "Now, why don't you just start from the beginning and tell me what you mean? What song?"

* * *

Maryden Halewell was distressed, to say the least. A whole month and not a single new song to come to mind. Though none have quite voiced it yet, she knew that everyone in the tavern was starting to get sick of "Empress of Fire" and "Enchanter." They had to be, because she was more than sick of singing them too. And while she sometimes sang "Maker," another crowd favorite, she wanted something new, something different. Something exotic.

Of course, being confined to Skyhold's walls didn't help things. Not that she couldn't leave, the Inquisitor allowed everyone to come and go as they pleased (after they've been cleared by Leliana's agents, that is) but it just wasn't safe in the outside world these days. Between Corypheus' forces, a civil war that had just been settled, Dalish rebels, and rumors of dragons of all things, where was she to even go? Half the world was on fire and the other half of the world was dry kindling the Inquisition was desperately trying to keep unlit.

So here she was, stuck at the tavern, with no inspiration in sight. She could always sing about the soldiers, of the brave men and women fighting against the forces of evils, but where was the entertainment in that? These people didn't need more reminders of what they were fighting for. Things were dreary enough as they were without her reminding theme very day, and while they did see an escape in her music, what they really needed, she knew, was an absolute escape. A nice, happy little ditty that could lift their spirits.

Her head collapsed to the bar counter for not the first time that day as she continued to rack her brain for song ideas. She'd been like this for nearly a week now, and her frustration was nearly palpable.

"Still no luck on them songs, lass?" the dwarven bartender, Cabot, asked her not for the first time that week.

"No..." Maryden sighed as she stared forlornly at her pen. "It's just that... Everything's so exciting out there, and I have to rely on stories from the outside world to come here to me for me to get my inspiration. But I can't just write any song, though. I could write a million songs with all the pain and suffering around Thedas these days."

Cabot simply nodded his agreement. Not exactly the talkative type, he left her to it and moved over to some other customers. Maryden followed him with her eyes as he moved past where Iron Bull and Sera were sitting. The two had been talking for quite a while now, and somewhat intrigued, Maryden, at the risk of her own life, tried to listen in.

"So what if you're a Tally Vallo-whatsit now?" said Sera as she gestured around the tavern with her mug of ale. "You're so caught up in titles, ya big man cow, you can't even focus on the bigger picture. You didn't let your people die. You didn't throw their lives away just for some stuffy alliance with your bloody Qun!"

Maryden's eyes lit up in recognition. That's right, Iron Bull and the Inquisitor had not too long ago returned from a failed attempt at an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari. Things went south when Iron Bull, at the advice of the Inquisitor, called back his men and allowed a Qunari dreadnought to be destroyed. That was the end of the alliance and since then, Iron Bull had been cast out of the Ben Hassrath and consequently labeled as a Tal Vashoth, a common mercenary, one of the biggest honors that could be bestowed upon a Qunari.

Iron Bull slammed his mug down on the bar counter in anger, alarming half of the tavern patrons minus Bull's group of Chargers who were sitting amongst themselves in their usual corner. "It's not just some damn religion or a nation you can choose to get out of," he argued back. "The Qun is a way of life. It is the central guiding philosophy that every true Qunari lives by. It's what keeps us from being the savage beasts that we were made to be. It keeps order."

"Order schmorder! You Qunari are so strung up with that bloody order of yours that you can't even see the good thing leaping out and nipping you right in your stupid, big horned face." Sera took a large gulp of her drink before she continued, a bit calmer now. "Look. Your people are alive, yeah? That's something to be happy about. You've lived outside of the Qun as a Ben Hussy whatever for the longest time now. So they kicked you out? Big deal. You're just gonna be livin' the same type of life you had been, just with less reports and such yeah?"

The hulking mass that was the Iron Bull seemed to shrink down into the bar corner, sighing. He then suddenly straightened up just to down the rest of his drink before standing up from the bar. "You know what Sera? Sometimes you really can be smart. And here I thought there was nothing but air and arrows in that little skull of yours." He laughed, patting Sera on the shoulder as he made his way back to his hangout in the corner of the first floor.

Sera laughed and raised his mug to him. "It's like I always like say, Bull! Why change the past when you can own today!"

A candle lit up in Maryden's mind as she grabbed her quill, dipped it in her inkwell, and started writing like a women possessed.

* * *

The Inquisitor stared at Sera in confusion. "So... Maryden... wrote a song about you. And you hate it?"

Sera shook her head as she stared melancholicly out towards the vast landscape of mountains that his quarters had an oh-so generous view of. "I never said I hated it. It's just that it's catchy. Really catchy. I mean, everyone's outright singing it now, yeah? It's annoying." She drew out the last word as she sank from standing against the railing to sitting down and leaning on it for support. The Inquisitor looked at her almost pityingly.

"Fame does get a little annoying," he replied, thinking about all the countless times he'd been approached by the laypeople and bombarded with "Maker bless you, Your Worship" and "Marry my daughter, Your Worship!" He still had nightmares about all the harassment he got from both men AND women at the Orlesian Court not too long ago. At least he didn't have nearly as bad a time as Cullen did...

"It's not the fame," Sera confessed. "Well, not really, but it kinda still is. I hate the fame, I mean, rumors? Renown? Sure, I guess it can help. It makes royals right piss their pants whenever they hear Big Bad Sera's comin' to get them." She couldn't help the toothy grin that popped up from the thought of that. "Soilin' their expensive breeches," she giggled to her self. "But I can't be famous, though, yeah? I'm not supposed to be famous. Ruins the whole mystery if everyone knows me as "Sera, that elfy girl from the song." Especially if they think I'm elfy."

"No," she continued, "the main thing is that everyone's been singing it. And I mean everyone. And it's driving me nuts."

This made the Inquisitor pause for a moment. "Surely it can't even be everyone."

Sera nodded, shuddering. "Blackwall is a right arse when he's sober, but even he gets a little loose and sing-y when he's had a few in him. And don't let me get started with Varric..."

The Inquisitor was starting to get a better picture of the situation. He could only imagine how bad it's been.

* * *

Sera started the morning as she always did: by getting up in the middle of the afternoon, stark naked and stretching in the midday sunlight. She quickly put on her clothes, grabbed her bow and arrows so she could practice later in the day, and headed downstairs to see what Cabot and the cooks had made for lunch that day. No sooner than she had cleared the last step did a familiar and grating tune begin to pick up.

Maryden. That bloody skank. She had never had much of an opinion of the musician or her songs, except that they were usually either very boring or very depressing, but ever since she had come up to her and "thanked' her for serving as the latest inspiration for her newest song, Sera was suppressing the daily urge to just fill that bitch full of arrows. First, she'd shoot an arrow in her eye. Then, she'd shoot an arrow in her other eye. Then, she'd just cram arrow after arrow after arrow down her forsaken noise hole until she couldn't sing that damn song anymore.

It's been roughly a week since the song had was first sung in the tavern and it played every single day, and at least three or four times a day. She half-expected Cabot or Iron Bull to say something about it, but to her surprise (and complete dismay) they encouraged it! Iron Bull, she could see encouraging it just to annoy her for laughs, but surely Cabot had to have gotten sick of that song by now.

She found herself eating a somewhat cold lunch, as she was more than an hour late for when they usually stopped serving and were preparing for dinner. Still, her belly was satisfied and was about to thank Cabot for the meal when she heard something that made her want to scream. Cabot was singing under his breath. He was singing that damn song. The grumpy little dwarf was actually singing!

Unable to contain herself anymore, she let out a loud wail of a scream as she flipped the bowl over the counter and stormed out of the tavern. All was silent for a few seconds before Maryden asked the collectively thought question. "What was that all about?"

Sera stormed off towards the practice range right behind the tavern where Cassandra was usually whacking away at straw targets with her sword whenever she wasn't resting, reading, or doing important Seeker things. And just as she expected, there the Seeker was, panting with a bit of exhaustion as she surveyed her straw-based opponent, barely giving her newly-arrived companion a nod of greeting before continuing in her training.

Sera couldn't help but smirk. If it weren't for the fact that she was such an uptight bitch, Sera would have probably made a move to bed her by now. Then again, she was an uptight bitch and there was nothing more of a turn off for Sera than the seriously uptight.

This was normal and normal was comforting. Having all but lost all of the anger she had felt since storming out of the tavern, Sera unslung her bow and began to take her practice shots. Her straw target was pierced once, twice, then thrice by the rogue's deadly shots, all bit out in quicker than most eyes could see, and all centered squarely in the target's chest. She had to give Maryden some credit, at least. Her song was nothing less than accurate about her abilities. Now if only she could get her to stop singing it every bloody day...

Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiarly annoying tune pricking at her ear drums for the second time that day. Sera turned to stare at Cassandra in horror as the Seeker sat on a stump and sharpened her blade, humming that damnable song. "Where."

Cassandra looked up at Sera, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Where did you hear that song?" Sera's tone was low and angry, and it looked almost as if she was snarling the question out.

Concerned, Cassandra stood up, holding her blade low but nonetheless ready in case Sera decided to attack. This wasn't like the girl. What could be wrong with her? "Over at the tavern, why? I mean, I haven't been in for a little over a week now, but I can hear them playing it every day it seems. I should probably go in sometime and ask Maryden to play it, since I haven't heard the words yet. I'm sure it's a fine song, and everyone seems to... like... it?"

The Seeker's voice trailed off as Sera slung her bow back over her shoulders and stalked off broodingly. Cassandra stared at her retreating form for a moment before shrugging and resumed her knightly duties, humming what she had been calling "the catchy tavern song."

With target practice and the tavern out of the question, Sera was off to find some place that she wasn't liable to fill someone full of arrows to relieve her stress. But no matter where she went, she could still find people humming, if not outright singing, that damned song! Even the injured were humming it to themselves, no doubt thanks to surgeon who had been singing it to them.

Finally she settled on the stables. Blackwall! Of course that stoic bastard wouldn't be caught singing! She swung open the barn doors and prepared a vicious smile for him. "Oi! Blackwall, or whatever, let's spar!"

Blackwall looked up from where he had been resting in the hay. Varric was sitting across from him in a chair by Blackwall's desk, and between them, a bottle of what appeared to be some dwarven liquor drank near half-empty.

"Well, if it isn't the most not-agreeable girl in all of Thedas!" Blackwall cheered as Sera stared on, horrified at what she'd just heard. No, it couldn't be...

"Hey, Buttercup, c'mon, join us for a drink!" Varric gave Sera a toothy grin as he raised up his drinking glass to Sera. "Hey Blackwall, how'd that song go again?" And together, the two of them belted out the familiar words that were tearing away at Sera's ears. Except this time, it was infinitely worse thanks to their horrible singing voices.

The rogue slammed the doors to the barn shut with exceptional force, only to open them up for a split second so she could shout "Arseholes!" at them first before shutting them closed again. Sera was at her wits end. Was there no safe haven left for her?

She walked past the singing injured men and decided to find her peace and quiet in Skyhold's Rookery. Solas, she thought. She hated his elfy ways and his insistence that she take more pride in her so-called heritage, but she also knew he'd never step foot in a a tavern. There's no way she would have heard it. And yet, when she arrived, that's exactly what she heard the mage singing it under his breath as he worked on one of his murals.

Her shriek of frustration caused Solas to slip and fall off of the ladder he had been standing on, the paint spilling across both the mural and all over his robes. Sera would have laughed at him if she wasn't so utterly fed up with that song. "Is there a single arsehole that isn't singing!?" she lamented with a scream as she stormed further up the rookery. Staring at the ceiling from where he had fallen, Solas murmured softly under his breath, "How could arses sing?" A mix of green and yellow paint began to mix onto his robes.

Sera bypassed the second floor entirely, knowing that Dorian had definitely heard that song, if not straight from the tavern then from Varric. Instead, she found herself seeking refuge with the Nightingale, Leliana. The Spymaster heard everything, but she didn't seem the singing type. At least, she hoped she wasn't. Still, it didn't hurt to be sure and at least if she did, Sera was on the top floor of the tallest building in all of Skyhold. She could just fling herself off and never have to hear that song again.

"Oi, Spymaster," Sera said as she planted her hands firmly on the table Leliana had laid her notes down on to examine. The Left Hand of the Divine stared at her in mild bemusement as she looked up slowly from her work.

"Yes, Sera, how might I help you?"

"Have you been singing?"

"... I'm sorry, what?"

"Have you been singing? That bloody stupid tavern song?"

"... Again, what?"

"You mean, you haven't heard?"

"What haven't I heard?" Leliana's eyebrows furrowed in worry. "Should I be concerned?"

Sera breathed a sigh of relief. For once, she was glad that Leliana hadn't heard of this song, though she supposed it was probably because it stayed well below her radar. "It's nothing," she said with a dismissive hand wave, heading over to a stack of boxes in the corner. "You mind if I hang out around here for the day? It's... noisy elsewhere."

Leliana was about to ask why and what had Sera acting so strangely all of a sudden when one of her agents rounded the stairs, holding what appeared to be a veiled bird cage. "Package for you, ma'am," the agent reported. "It's from Varric."

The Spymaster nodded, knowing exactly what the package was. Sera, her curiosity piqued, decided against settling in the corner and moved over to see what it was that Leliana had received from Varric. "What is it?" she asked.

Instead of just saying, Leliana took the cloth that was draped over the cage off and revealed the most beautiful bird Sera had ever seen. It was blue and green and red... It was just so incredibly colorful! "It's called a "parrot," an exotic bird that apparently has the ability to speak. I read about one in one of Varric's pirate novels a little while ago, and I talked to him about it a little over a month ago. I guess it just arrived, today, since this is usually when the quartermaster starts handing out personal packages."

"Talk, eh? What a weird little bird," Sera commented as she knelt down to look at the parrot at eye level. "So, say somethin' then, little bird. Say "Sera." C'mon, say it!"

Leliana frowned. "Sera, I don't think it can speak quite yet. Varric says parrots usually need to be specifically trained to speak first."

Before Sera could retort, the parrot stared at her pointedly. "S... Ser..." The girls looked at the bird expectantly for it to speak its first word to them. "Ser... Sera! Sera! Braaahk! Sera!" Sera looked at Leliana, grinning triumphantly and was prepared to gloat until the bird opened its mouth again. "Sera was never! Sera was never!"

That day, the Nightingale learned something new. She learned how far Sera could punt a parrot off the Rookery.

* * *

The Inquisitor sighed and pat Sera on the back as he led her out of her chambers. "I'll talk to Maryden, maybe we can spread out how many times she sings that particular song. In the meantime, I think you'll just have to grin and bear it." While externally he was calm and collected, inside the Inquisitor had to suppress the urge to laugh at his companion's predicament. It was more than a little hilarious that Sera could be taken down by singing, of all things.

Sera sighed and kicked the floor as she walked. "It's bloody rubbish, it is. If it weren't for the fact that the whole tavern would be dreadfully boring if we didn't have that damn bitch around to sing, I'd have plugged her full of arrows. Just, bam, pin cushion, but instead of pins, arrows." She then stopped and turned to the Inquisitor, eyes alight with what was sure to be an awful and dreadful idea. "What if I shot her instrument! Like, every time she tried to sing it, I just shoot an arrow at her stringy thing!"

"No shooting arrows at anything that isn't a target or an enemy, Sera. We've been over this."

"But her and that bloody song are my enemy!"

"No."

"Boo, you're no fun."

They walked in silence for a bit until they had entered the main hall of Skyhold's Keep. "Remember, Sera," the Inquisitor said, "just let me talk to Maryden about singing that song a little bit less. In the meantime, go... hide somewhere or something."

Sera was still frustrated, but agreed and broke off from the Inquisitor, who had turned away to meet with the War Council again. As he walked by Josephine's desk, he could hear the ambassador humming a particularly uplifting tune.

_Sera was never an agreeable girl_...

* * *

**And that's all for this chapter. It was a bit of a last minute idea, but I just recently had the fun idea of how everyone would have reacted to Sera's special little theme song. As always, please leave a review and let me know if there's a particular scenario you'd like to see enacted by the Inner Circle and other Skyhold characters! I look forward to hearing from you!**


	3. Playing Dress-Up

**Another week, another chapter. This week's chapter is inspired by reviewer "Patton." ****It should be noted that in my head canon, while three party members are "primary," the rest of the party is generally doing other stuff in the background. I understand it's a game mechanic necessity that there's only 4 people allowed on missions, but it also makes no sense to me that the others are left to just hang around back at Skyhold. So for the purposes of this fic and specifically this chapter, it is assumed that all party members will be attending the Empress's ball.**

**Being the most immersed in Orlesian culture, First Enchanter Vivienne is tasked by the Inquisitor in assisting Josephine in preparing the Inner Circle for their mission at the Winter Palace.**

* * *

Vivienne, Madame de Fer, the "Iron Lady," First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais, surveyed the various garments that she had ordered for. Racks upon racks of garments stood closely together in the Inquisitor's private quarters, who had lent her his room to use for her new task. Per order of the Inquisitor, she could now add Most Holy Stylist of the Inquisition to her list of titles, as she had just been given the of deciding on the formal attire of the Inquisition.

At first, it appeared to be something for someone far below her station and she had greatly disapproved of the Inquisitor's suggestion that a woman of her status be relegated to a mere tailor. However, the Inquisitor had given a rather passionate argument. No one else, he had said, was as qualified as Vivienne to not only have the eye for fashion that would undoubtedly woo the Imperial Court, but also had the power to get the more troublesome of his Inner Circle to comply without much incident. Yes, this task would require a keen fashion sense, a persuasive rhetoric, and the patience of a Divine.

And ice magic. Probably lots and lots of ice magic.

Luckily, she won't be alone today. The good Lady Josephine Montilyet will be assisting her in this venture as a sort of secretary, as well as some welcome company and secondary advice. Secretly, she suspected the Inquisitor had asked Josephine to stand in just in case Vivienne felt the urge to murder someone. Always trust a noble woman to help keep another noble woman in check. It seemed that the Inquisitor had an understanding of the Game after all.

"Lady Motilyet, darling," Vivienne said to her in her refined Free Marcher's drawl. "Would you be a dear and tell me just what exactly I am looking at here?"

"Why of course, First Enchanter," Josephine replied as she walked over with her scribe board to the racks of garment samplings. "These are the best that Thedas has to offer, made from the finest fabrics by the finest tailors from Antiva to Orlais. You are free to mix and match, of course, and we have some of the tailors on stand-by elsewhere in Skyhold. Nevertheless, the options on the racks before you are all tailor made for each member of the Inquisition and will most likely only require minute adjustments once the Inner Circle's true measurements have been taken. The style is up to you, of course."

As an afterthought, Josephine then added, "And please, call me Josephine if you'd like."

Vivienne smiled politely at the Antivan. "So then I simply Vivienne to you, darling." The First Enchanter reached out to gently touch one of the garments, a rich, soft, but overall hardy material that was sure to be extremely durable. Most definitely Dwarven, most likely from Orzammar. My, my, she thought, to get Dwarven tailors involved. The Inquisition really didn't spare any expense for this. Or for her, it seemed.

Clapping her hands together, she turned to Josephine. "Well then! Let's get started, shall we dear? Who shall be our first?"

* * *

Her first "victim" of the day was to be Warden Blackwall. The scraggly looking man came to them, of course, in his armor, as opposed to anything more casual. Vivienne rolled her eyes at the sight of him. Couldn't he have worn at least some regular clothing, say, some breeches? Did the man OWN anything other than combat gear? She swore that he practically slept in that clunky, uncouth metal, same as Cassandra she assumed. Sighing, Vivienne gestured for the Grey Warden to stand by where she had set up a concave wall of mirrors.

"Warden Blackwall," she said with a touch of artificial pleasantry. "Glad of you to be here so early. Was there anyone else out there yet?"

Blackwall simply crossed his arms and scoffed lightly, as if to himself. "Hardly. I assume everyone else is dragging their feet or busy with other things. I passed Varric on the way here, and he said he'd by in a bit. Something about a request from Leliana."

Vivienne smiled in amusement at Blackwall. "Oh, so I assume you're here early because you can't wait to see what fine garments finally feel like?"

The Warden let out a curt but hardy laugh. "Hardly! I just want to get this over with so I can get on to better things. Honestly, only those froofy little nobles can bother to have a ball as a truce for the civil war they started. In the middle of more pressing concerns, at that. Like the giant hole in the sky and the armies of corruped Templars rampaging the countryside."

The First Enchanter allowed a slight frown of displeasure to grace her refined expressions before it vanished, replaced once again by her usual graceful smile. "Blackwall..." Vivienne began, "You never cease to amaze me by just how... quaint you are. It's charming, really. Your simplicity."

"... Come again?"

"No, no, it's quite endearing, actually. Froofy nobles, hah, I'm sure those in the Orlesian Court will love to hear you entertain them with your tales of strife and struggle. It's all the finest in Orlais ever talk about, really. The life of the common man is so alien to them. But not quite a common man, but a Grey Warden! Oh they'll eat you right up. You know how us foofy nobles love the outdated and archaic types."

"I have this very distinct feeling you're actually insulting me, Lady Vivienne."

Vivienne smiled at Josephine, who simply stared in shock at the easily cowed Blackwall who was burning holes through the floor. "Now dear, if you please, can you bring that one red dress uniform from Antiva? I think that one might be my personal favorite of them all, just for the color contrast." Josephine bowed her head acquiescently as she left to find the specific garment amongst all the racks of clothes.

"And you, there, Blackwall, you can go ahead and strip."

Blackwall blinked as he and Josephine both straightened, red tints touching both of their cheeks. "I, uh... I beg your pardon, Vivienne?"

"You heard me, you must strip, unless you insist on wearing this over your armor. There is no way I'll be getting measurements from you with that on, so strip, please, deary."

There was a bit of silence and a bit more clothes rustling as Blackwall, reluctantly, stripped off his armor. Yes, it was just going to be the armor, of course. That made sense. Josephine had let out a sigh of relief and disappeared back behind the racks to search for the red coat and pants Vivienne had asked for. Seeing that she was out of view, Vivienne took that as her cue to gesture for Blackwall. To continue stripping.

Blackwall stared and mouthed "No." Vivienne replied with a mouthed "Yes." Blackwall shook his head vigorously in the negative. Vivienne nodded her head rather lazily. Blackwall crossed his arms and made an X shape across his shape. Vivienne crossed her arms and gave him a disapproving grimace. "Blackwall, must you be so brazenly difficult or would you rather this entire process be delayed? Have you any idea how exact these measurements must be?"

The two stared at each other for several tense seconds before Vivienne's sharp, steely gaze crumbled Blackwall's will, as if by some perverse blood magic. Cursing her name and her very existence, Blackwall began to strip down past his tunic. Of course he had no idea how precise these measurements must be, but if Vivienne wanted to see him down to his knickers, then so be it. When his breeches hit the floor, he stood proudly with both legs spread shoulder-width apart, hands on his hips.

Vivienne, to her surprise, found that Blackwall apparently did not like to wear anything under his tunic. Vivienne rolled her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose, eyes closed, as she let out a sigh. Of course this would be her first one for the day.

The silence was more than the Warden could bear, and he cleared his throat before he attempted to explain. "It's, uh... Very freeing... in... combat."

"What's freeing?" Josephine asked as she rounded the corner, holding what was to be Blackwall's formal attire in the red coat and blue sash style from Fereldan. However, upon seeing Vivienne standing there annoyed and Blackwall... exposed, Josephine's eyes widened as she dropped both her scribe board and the clothes so that she could cover her mouth. "O-oh my... Um..."

Vivienne cracked a too-innocent smile. "Now, now, dear, I understand you must be... enamored with the sight, but we must get some work done. Now, the measuring tape, if you will. We'll need to see how thick he is."

Josephine and Blackwall both flushed very harshly. "H-how... thick?" Josephine croaked out. Blackwall, for his part, was regretting his decision to stand with his hands on his hips, as if he were presenting his little wall.

Vivienne laughed. "Yes, of course, dear. His chest. The man's chest might cause the coat to rip. We'll also need to find out his length."

"U-um... Length?"

"Yes, his trouser length. Wouldn't do to have the uniform crumple at the bottom now would it?"

"Oh, um... Right. I'll just... Go... get... that... Now."

As Josephine scurried off, Vivienne stifled a petite laugh as Blackwall scowled. "You're pure evil, you know that?"

Vivienne quieted her laughter and allowed just a small, genuine smirk. "Oh come now, all in good fun. Now, you can go ahead and put your tunic back on. I'm sure I can work around that after all. And besides, wouldn't do for Josephine to faint while she's taking your measurements."

* * *

True to Blackwall's word, Varric had entered the Inquisitor's chambers not too long after the Warden had left. For his part, Varric was confused at Blackwall's not-so-quiet rumblings of "that evil Orlesian mage" when he passed him in the Main Hall, but considering that Vivienne was one of the few people in probably all of Thedas that could scare Blackwall down, he wouldn't be all that surprised to learn Vivienne had done something wicked to him. Like "accidentally" poke him with needles or something.

What he did not expect, however, was a heavy-breathing Josephine trying to stop the blood from pooling in her face and an extremely amused Vivienne. "Do I even want to know?" chuckled Varric as he made his way over to where it looked like Vivienne intended everyone to change, by the concave wall of three mirrors beside the clothing racks.

"I suppose you would, Varric, but I suspect you would find more enjoyment in torturing poor Blackwall about it instead," Vivienne replied as she motioned for Josephine to bring Varric's version of the red and blue-sashed military coat and pants.

"Hah, you wouldn't be wrong there, Iron Lady." Varric looked around and found a small step stool that was probably there just for him and climbed up on top of it. Loathe as he was to frequently admit his shorter stature, he did recognize it as a reality and was confident enough to not be ashamed to use a step stool just so the Iron Lady over there didn't have to strain her back taking his measurements.

"So tell me this, Iron Lady," Varric asked as he took off his outer coat, revealing what Vivienne saw to be his impressively repulsive amount of chest hair, "how did such a high and mighty woman like you come to being a simple seamstress for the Inquisition?"

Vivienne laughed politely to herself. Behind her Josephine returned with an appropriately small sized set of the red garments Vivienne had seemed to be growing fonder of. "Lady Vivienne was asked by the Inquisitor to perform this task."

"I get that, Ruffles, but my real question is... Why? It's not like there weren't a shortage of noble tailors, lined up from here to Val Royeaux, from the looks of that entourage that showed up yesterday. Why not one of them?"

"Because, Varric, darling, I'm the only one qualified in the knowledge of fashion _and_ throwing fireballs at unruly children. Now put this on, please."

Varric laughed at that answer as he complied and slipped on the coat, buttoning from the bottom up. "You got me there. I can't even imagine trying to get Tiny or Buttercup in one of these get ups."

Vivienne allowed herself to roll her eyes at that. She was familiar with Varric's nicknames for Iron Bull and Sera, but she would have known who he meant regardless. She too did not look forward to those two specifically. "Yes, I too dread when I must do those two's measurements. Iron Bull, being a good Qun following brute, would most likely comply well with my demands, but Sera... I can't imagine her not getting these fineries covered in mud the second she puts them on, just to spite us."

"Oh, Buttercups isn't that bad. Your biggest worry would be that she'd decide it was all too prim and proper and that she'd start streaking across the Empress's court room just for laughs."

"Well, if that's the worst I can fear from her, then I have nothing to fear at all."

"Oh?"

"Of course. It would not be the first time it's happened."

Varric snorted as he finally reached the last two top buttons, seeming to struggle with them. "Is that so?"

Josephine took the moment to chime in. "About five years ago, two Orlesian nobles engaged in a nude fencing match before the Empress Celene. Reportedly, a good time was had by all."

The dwarf was silent for a moment. "Now... By fencing..."

"Don't be crude, Varric," Vivienne scolded as she gestured for the dwarf to face the mirrors. "Now, what do you think?"

Varric twisted and turned as he absorbed every angle of his appearance from the assistance of the three mirrors. "Eh... It's very... constricting."

"Is the size too small, Varric?" asked Josephine.

"No... It sits on the shoulders just fine, the fabric's great and stretches across the chest nicely enough... It's just... I'm not used to wearing closed shirts," the dwarf finally admitted.

Vivienne stared at him, no amusement to be found in her face. "You will not flash the Empress Celene your chest hair under any circumstances. Honestly, it's as if the concept of personal grooming never took to your dwarves."

"For your information, Iron Lady, I was born on the surface."

"Regardless, I've seen enough of your kind to know that my statement rings no less truer."

"... Fair enough. So I have to keep it all the way buttoned like this?"

"Unless you wish to have your chest hair be considered the true assailant against Empress Celene, than yes."

Varric sighed as he patted his chest, as if attempting to get his chest hair to stop rubbing against the fabrics. "Since it's only for one night, fine. But promise me that when this is all over, you see what you can do about making open-shirts the next style to sweep Orlais."

"Even my powers have limits, my dear."

* * *

Cassandra and Dorian's measurements went by without much incident. Cullen had sent Vivienne his old dress uniform that he wore whilst with the Templars and asked that they simply use that as a template, citing that he was far too busy managing troop movement across the Emerald Graves and around Halamshiral. While annoyed, Vivienne was nonetheless understanding. Cullen was a military man and his appearance was sure to be sharp no matter what, so taking his measurements were sure to be an unnecessary formality.

In fact, if she ultimately decided on this red coat and trousers as the official formal attire for the Inquisition, she had no doubts that Commander Cullen was sure to attract the most pleasant of attention from all the men and women. Well, pleasant for all except Cullen, of course.

Vivienne and Josephine waited for several minutes before Vivienne finally grew impatient. After deciding to take Josephine's measurements while they apparently had free time, Vivienne asked Josephine to send word to those remaining that she was still awaiting their measurements. It seemed to not matter in the end for almost as soon as Josephine disappeared down the stairs to inform the others, the great, grey bulk that was the Iron Bull clamored up the stairs to the Inquisitor's quarters.

The First Enchanter smiled pleasantly at the Qunari that she had civilized. Ever since her first tongue lashing, Iron Bull, whether out of recognition of his betters or out of some sense of honor that the Qun, barbaric pagan belief that it may be, had instilled in him, now gave her the respect befitting of a lady of her station as opposed to another one of his mercenary flunkies.

"I, uh, sorry I'm late, Viv, I mean, ma'am."

Oh yes, she had him tamed, alright.

"Not to worry, darling," Vivienne waved off as she gestured for Iron Bull to stand where Varric and Blackwall had previously stood, before the trio of mirrors. Of course, these were human sized mirrors, so they cut off at just above nipple height for Iron Bull. An unfortunate misstep, but one that Vivienne saw as generally insignificant.

Vivienne analyzed Iron Bull from top to bottom, from his horns to his boots. It was peculiar to her, that while his horns were keenly waxed and dilgently polished, his boots were hardly in one piece. The Enchanter sighed. "Honestly, Iron Bull, I don't know where to start with you."

The Qunari squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze. "C'mon, I can't be that bad, now can I?"

"Well, your horns are remarkably well kept, but everything." Vivienne sighed, holding her face in her palm. "I suppose you know that you can't go before the pre-eminent nobles of Orlais shirtless, right?"

Iron Bull cleared his throat a bit before he replied, "I was keenly aware of that fact, yes. Qunari, do, as a matter of fact, wear shirts. We just choose not to. The horns tend to interfere with putting them on, and getting dressed with a shirt becomes an all day affair."

Vivienne laughed quietly to herself, politely covering her mouth with her hand. "I suppose they would yes. Well, fortunately, your main piece of attire will consist of simply a coat and a set of trousers, as well as an undershirt for modesty's sake." She pointed at a rather large cotton undershirt that lay on a nearby table. "While you undoubtedly struggle to put that on, I will be looking for some good coats for you to wear. I'd prefer you to wear one of the red coast I've had everyone else try, but I'd like to take the time to at least try out the others. Besides, I see you in more of a forest green and grey anyways."

As the First Enchanter disappeared into the aisles of clothing racks, Iron Bull examined the white shirt on the table. While it looked big enough to fit two, maybe three humans in it comfortably, it looked as if it would fit Iron Bull just right. Slipping it over his head, he tried to pull it down, only for it to hook on one of his horns.

He sighed. Buttonless shirts. The Qunari's worst enemy.

Gently, thought Bull. Just had to reach over and unhook it from that horn and- Crap, now it was caught on the other one. Iron Bull snarled his teeth and let out a low, gutteral growl as he tugged at the shirt again in frustration. He felt the shirt go slack and pulled the shirt down over his head only to let out another sound of frustration. Instead of becoming free, one of the horns had gone through one of the sleeves instead of the head hole. Damn these un-horn-friendly shirts!

Bull yanked the sleeve over his horn and tried to slide the previously trapped horn in first, only to find his other horn in the same predicament only with the other sleeve. His next attempt was to simply stretch the head hole opening and slip his whole head in. Gently, at first, just oh so gently and _RIIIIIP_.

Oh no, thought Bull. Oh crap. Oh CRAP. Bull yanked the shirt over his head and stared at it in his hands. It seemed that instead of stretching it a little, he had ripped the shirt's neck seams and split the shirt right down the middle in a V-shape. Bull simply sighed and slid the shirt over his head, only needing to adjust just a little bit this time. With the ripped shirt's neck collar, it fit much better over his head. Of course, the rip was so deep that half of Iron Bull's torso could plainly be seen, but that could hardly be helped now.

The soft sigh of contempt coming from behind him said that Vivienne agreed as much. "I suppose that will have to do until we can figure out a better way for you to wear a shirt," she mumbled as she set several coats on the table. "Now try this on. I'm sure there won't be any more troubles."

Iron Bull grabbed one of the coats and examined it. The material was finer than any he had ever seen or felt before, and he'd felt many fine beds in his time. It seemed too fine, though, and that's what worried him. Still, at least he didn't have to worry about his horns with these button-up type of coats. He slipped the forest green coat Vivienne had picked out for him and proceeded to button it up.

Or at least tried to. As he worked up to the last two or so buttons, he found the coat to be much tighter than expected, and the buttons became more difficult to fasten. "Come on you stupid little, fucking but-" He was cut short by the button snapping off from Bull's aggressive pulling. "Oh crap," he muttered as he turned to show Vivienne. "Uh, ma'am, small problem," he had started to say. However, as soon as he lifted his arm to show her the button that had come off, a slight rip could be heard from his back.

The fabric had torn.

Vivienne sighed.

And then so did Bull. "You sure I can't just go topless?"

* * *

Iron Bull's dressing had taken three hours.

Vivienne was, at this point, frustrated beyond normal levels for her just at the amount of time having to dress that overgrown mass of muscle had taken. He'd ripped every single pair of clothing _except_ the one from the set of red coats that she had favored for the others, and she'd simply taken that as a sign from the Maker to just get on with it.

As of the middle of the afternoon, nearly everyone had already come in for their measurements. Solas was cordial and pleasant, though there was a bit of terseness between her and the apostate at first that was thankfully diffused by Lady Josephine's presence. She also had the distinct feeling that the demon Cole had come by as well, but for the life of her, she couldn't quite remember if he did or not. All she had to go on it was the fact that there were a list of measurements that did not have a name next to them.

Now was the one that Vivienne dreaded. Of course the Inquisition's biggest trouble child was to be last. Out of all of them, Sera was the one that Vivienne foresaw giving her the most trouble. Ever since she had arrived, and had deemed Vivienne as nothing but another prissy noble, the elf had gone out of her way to attempt to prank in her laughable, feeble-minded ways.

Of course, Vivienne had countered all of her attempts quite succinctly, save for that one food-related incident, but Sera was never one to give up. Now she had just devolved to calling everything Vivienne did stupid. Or, when said in her charming little bumpkin accent, "stoooopid."

"Sera, please try and behave just for a few moments," Josephine pleaded as the elven archer began to peruse the aisles of clothing on her own, as if shopping in some common store.

"Oh shove it, will ya Josie? I's jus' clothes shoppin'. I can handle that fine enough. Don't need to involve no tailor in this. Just pick this," she said, grabbing an outrageously bright yellow coat, "and this," she added, this time grabbing what appeared to be a pair of blue breeches meant for Varric, "aaaaand this!" The final option was a funny looking hat, with four protruding... things. With little bells attached to the end of them.

Sera strolled over to where Vivienne was looking on with a blank expression and shoved the clothes in to Vivienne's arms. "How's about that, Vivvy?" Sera said, singing the last part almost tauntingly. "How about I wear that to your stooopid little royals ball? Heheheheh... Royals balls. A right laugh, innit? 'Cause half of 'em don't really have any, and I don't mean the girls."

Vivienne maintained a neutral expression and examined each of the garments Sera had chosen. The yellow coat was nearly luminscent and was so loud she could hear it screaming in terror at its own existence. She made a mental note to have whoever tailored this condemned for life for this atrocity. The pants were, as she suspected, made only for a dwarf, but upon further inspection, also appeared to be plaid in material. Another tailor deserving the death penalty, or some equivalent she was sure. The hat, however, was charming and rather befitting its chooser.

With that train of thought, Vivienne simply smiled kindly at Sera. Too kindly. Sera swallowed hard and backed away from the Enchanter, as if expecting to be shot with a fire ball. "W-what's that smile about, Vivvy? Finally lost it?"

Vivienne shook her head, "Goodness no. I'm just admiring your fashion sense."

"You're... My what?"

"Your fashion sense, darling. Obviously you're more in tune with the fashion of royals than I thought! Just the other day, I saw two youths dressed almost exactly like this. Two very young women of noble stature, very refined, very regal. This is all the rage these days in Val Royeaux! I was actually disgusted with how out of date the garments delivered to Skyhold were, but alas, I had to make due."

Sera's face faltered with each sentence. "You're... You're screwing with me, right? You're having a right laugh, aren't ya!"

Vivienne let out a genuine-sounding laugh. "Not at all, my dear! I always knew that deep inside you was the spirit of a young noble woman just waiting to get off, and here it is! I'll make sure that this will be set aside just for you to wear, while the rest of us unfashionables wear our common, outdated drudgery."

The rogue's face lit up red with fury as she stuttered and stammered for a response. Finally, she settled for grabbing the bell-adorned hat and tossing it out the nearest window. "Shut it! You stupid... Noble... Prissy... Yaaargh!" Sera screamed in anger as she stormed off towards the stares. "That's not how this was supposed to work! Why do you have to go and ruin everything?"

As Sera's angry steps can be heard descending down the stairs, Josephine smiled at Vivienne in admiration. "Well done, Madame de Fer."

Vivienne bowed slightly to Josephine in recognition of her congratulations. "It was nothing at all, Josephine. She'll be back later today, all in a huff, demanding "proper measurements for her stupid dress suit thing," Vivienne imitated, much to Josephine's amusement. "And then all that would be left is the Inquisitor."

The two shared a small nod of agreement at how events had turned out. All in all, the day had not gone as bad as Vivienne had expected. She should have had more faith in her own abilities. Smiling contently to herself, Vivienne then looked down at the garments Sera had shoved into her arms moments ago.

"Oh, Josephine? Maybe we should set these aside for her anyways. Just in case."

* * *

**And that's it for this chapter. Sorry that this one was more than a bit long, and I hope there were enough funny moments to keep things going. I also apologize for how long it took to get this one out. I had initially written scenarios for all of the Inner Circle, and then went through and edited either the least funny or ones which seemed to have better individual plot lines. On top of that, my last semester of undergrad is starting tomorrow and I've been busy preparing for that.**

**Anyways, thanks again for reading and be sure to leave a review if you have any constructive criticism or suggestions on what scenarios I should write about next! Another big thanks for reviewer "Patton," by the way, for giving me this idea. I'll see you again next week!**


	4. The Joys of Reading

**Sorry for the lateness on this, it's been a fairly busy and hectic week for me. In any case, I'll try to stick to a more stable schedule in the future, but no promises. Good ideas are starting to become harder to come by, and while I hope to stretch this out as much as I can, I'm probably going to have to wrap this story up at around 10 chapters, given that there's no real continuity between these "mini-sodes."**

**Anyways, this week's story features our favorite Seeker, and her quest for some peace and quiet so she can indulge in her deepest, darkest pleasure. Minor spoilers for her companion quest line.**

* * *

Maker forgive her. This was a grievous sin that she was committing, she knew that deep in her heart, and yet she felt compelled to her very soul to continue in what she saw to be a shameful act. In her hands was a gift from the enemy, a sign of betrayal to her very core beliefs. Her eyes scanned left and right as she checked to ensure the coast was clear.

Nobody to the left. Nobody to the right. Perfect. She glanced down at the tome she clutched tightly to her chest as she rounded the corner from the tavern and made a quick half-sprint/trot towards the armory, which her personal quarters were positioned above. Soon. Soon, she would be able to read her precious, the latest chapter of_ Swords and Shields_.

She was being foolish, she knew. Never mind the fact that she never should have tried to bring this book with her on that last mission. She should have known that between her companions and the enemy, she'd never have the peace and quiet required to finish even one chapter. And if she was too secretive about it, she was bound to arouse suspicions anyways. It was bad enough that the Inquisitor and Varric knew. If Leliana or Cullen, or Maker forbid Sera found out too...

She'd never be able to live it down, not in a million lifetimes.

In the end, it sat in her travel pack for the entirety of their mission. It was as if the Maker knew what a shameful thing this book was. That was why they all went on a mission almost immediately after Varric had given her the book. She had barely made it halfway through the first part of the chapter! It was a cruelty, yes, but perhaps a necessary one.

Damn Varric, thought Cassandra. Damn him and his gilded pen and his romance serial and his cliffhangers!

But she was home free now, literally. Just a trip up the stairs and she would be able to enjoy her guilty pleasure in the security of her private quarters. She opened the door of the armory slowly and peered inside. Good, it was just one of the resident blacksmiths hired to produce the generic weapons and armor of the Inquisition. Cassandra easily slipped by him undetected as he was engrossed in his worse. The rhythmic banging of his hammer on newly-wrought iron helped masked the sound of her boots clambering up the stairs.

The Seeker was barely able to contain her excitement as she all but flung open her bedroom door and dove onto her bed, _Swords and Shields_ clutched tightly to her chest. She immediately set out to pick up where she had left off.

_Tearful tremors racked the Knight-Captain's body as she lay on her side, facing the dungeon's frigid, unforgiving walls. The cold bit into her exposed skin as she lay there, imprisoned by those she thought she could trust. Arnauld... How she was taken for such a fool! She had put her very life in his hands countless times, and he in hers, and yet here she lay, a prisoner of the young Guard-Captain. _

_Yet she could not find it in her to hate him. No, even at the thought of his handsome face send chills down her spine, more than the cold slab of stone she was now laying on ever could. Even now, she found herself longing for his warm touch. This had to be some mistake, some misunderstanding. This had to be the work of some scoundrel, maybe some apostate rebel, bent on bringing about a terrible revolution, to upheave all society. This couldn't be the work of her Arnauld..._

_Footsteps on cobblestone brought her out of her grief-ridden reverie. Swallowing hard, she put ice in her heart and fire in her eyes as she stood to face the cell door. Deep down, she knew there was nothing she could do. She was still shackled to the walls by her arms and legs, with just enough freedom to move about her cell but no more than that. Unless she could get a key, she saw no reasonable way of escape, short of gnawing her limbs off._

_She heard voices just on the other side of the door. Then, laughter. Deep, hateful, and injurious laughter, the type belched out by perverted men aimed to do their worst. Fear pierced her heart and sat heavy in her belly as the door's lock rattled, and the knob slowly turned. Just beyond the passageway of the door stood three of the magistrate's personal guardsmen, goons and thugs in all actuality, all drunk, and all leering at her with lustful, wanting eyes._

_"I assume you're here to let me go?" Knight-Captain Anita said in as strong a voice she could muster. While she sounded confident, deep down, she was outright frightened. She was helpless. And it made her angry, but her ire only made the fear worse. She knew she needed a miracle to save her now. _

_"Don't act smart," the lead guard, a balding Antivan slurred at her. "You know exactly why we're here. And what we're gonna do to ya. Ain't that right, boys?" His lackeys cackled on cue. Anita stepped backwards, as if to retreat, but only found that familiar harsh wall she had spent the last few days getting to know. _

_The Antivan chortled as he and his pack moved to surround her. Anita closed her eyes, trying to drown out the sounds of their heavy breaths on her flesh. And then, suddenly, she heard it. Cobbling along the same passage that these wicked men had just walked down, the sound of fleet, sprinting feet. Her eyes opened, just in time for the guard on her left to grab her harshly on her arm and pull her into him. She continued to stare straight ahead, and her fixed focus caught the guards' attentions._

_"Just what the fuck are you staring at you-" The lead guard's words were cut short by-_

Cassandra nearly threw the book across the room as the pounding door grew loud enough to catch her attention. Her face was flush and her chest was heaving, in embarrassment or exhilaration, she wasn't entirely sure.

"Seeker Cassandra!" said the voice on the other side of the door, followed by three hard, rapid knocks. "Lady Seeker, are you in there? I was told to come fetch you! The Inquisitor is calling on the War Council at this time and requires your presence!"

Damn the Inquisitor, Cassandra wanted to shout back, but she knew that above all else, she was a soldier of the Inquisition and had her duties. She eyed the shameful secret that she was holding sadly before marking the page and closing it. She lifted her mattress and made to store her new book underneath it for safe-keeping, but then thought better of it.

While Skyhold was safe, and she didn't think anyone would snoop around in her room for any reason, she couldn't be too careful. After all, Sera was always usually rummaging through Vivienne's things, and while they weren't at odds, she never knew when the rogue might set her sights on her just for laughs. No, the safest place for the book was with her.

She stuffed the book into her travel pack and stuffed some relevant notes and paperwork into it as well, to give her bringing the pack along a bit of legitimacy. Besides, she had a feeling she already knew what this blasted meeting was about. Turning to the door, she called out, "Tell the Inquisitor I will be there presently. I... just have to regain my bearings. Our last mission was hard fought, you see."

"Understood, ma'am. Sorry for the interruption."

Cassandra sighed as she made for the door. If only they knew what it was they were interrupting.

* * *

She didn't think that meeting would ever end. The Inquisitor and his advisers, plus Cassandra and Blackwall, had spent the last few hours arguing intensely over how to best utilize the remaining Grey Wardens. They had taken some serious casualties on their latest mission, and it was unsure if it was wise to further press their usage if it was sought to keep enough of them alive to restart the southern chapters of the Wardens.

But now it was done and they had all taken the rest of the day off to mull over the decision some more, as well as to get away from each other for a moment. After Blackwall had started to get defensive, things took a rather heated turn. Cassandra swore that man was more passionate about the Grey Wardens than any other Warden she'd ever met or heard about.

Speaking of passionate...

Her eyes lit up with wicked glee as she swiftly made her ways back to her quarters. She had been rudely interrupted before, but not anymore. She had the rest of the evening to look forward to, and nothing could get in the way of her reading her book.

That's what she thought, up until she saw Iron Bull's hulking form blocking the closest doorway of the armory. "Oh great," she murmured to herself as she tried to slip past me. "Excuse me, Bull, I need to return to my quarters."

"No can do, Cassandra," said Iron Bull as he turned to face her. "Rats."

Cassandra's face fell as she stared up at the Ben Hassroth's face. "... Rats."

"Yep. Rats."

"Rats."

"Is there an echo in here?"

"What do you mean rats!?" she finally bit out.

Iron Bull stepped to the side and allowed Cassandra to look in. The floor of the armory was littered with the corpses of several large, dead rats. The Seeker's face contorted into one of disgust and she looked back up at Bull for an explanation, any explanation at all.

"Damn things wouldn't stay still. Barkeep over at Herald's Rest asked me and my men to help flush out what he said was a small rat problem. Hah. Small my giant gray ass. Turns out that these rats had started a nest _inside_ the castle walls, and had been just raiding the tavern's stores. There had to be hundreds of them! I'm still shocked no one found out until now."

Cassandra paled as she stared distrustfully over at the walls. That, according to Bull, were possibly teeming with filthy vermin. "So, I assume that you've taken care of them now, yes?"

"No."

"No?"

"Nope." Bull sighed and cross his arms over his bulky chest. "Shame as I am to admit it? These rats have got us beat. I've got Krem leading a small team of Chargers throughout Skyhold to stomp them all out, but reports I've been getting are that there's still remnants we haven't quite stomped out. They're almost as bad as Darkspawn. At this point, we've settled for treating them like Darkspawn too. Sealed the breach in the wall with Solas' help, and now we're just working on ridding the area of all rats. Have to make sure we didn't miss any either, otherwise, they'll start breeding topside and here we go again, you know?"

Cassandra sighed and gave a weary nod. "I understand and wish you luck. But wait, why couldn't you let me upstairs earlier? Bull suddenly found an interesting piece of wall to stare at and began to scratch the back of his head nervously. "Bull... Please don't tell me there are RATS in my bedroom?"

"Okay, I won't tell you then."

"BULL!"

"What? It's not my fault they got into your room. They just went everywhere once we found the hole they've been pouring out of. Krem thought that it was just a small bunch, so I hit the wall with my hammer. Big surprise when they're suddenly rushing me and scattered all throughout Skyhold! In anycase, fine, I'm sorry they're in your room. Don't worry, I got Dalish up there looking for them. She'll take them out nice and discrete like, and after she's done, you won't even know either she or the rats were even there."

Cassandra chewed on her lip as she contemplated this. Well, at least the problem was getting taken care of and honestly, she'd rather find somewhere else to read than spend the entire afternoon hunting down the rats in her room. It was better to just leave Bull and his Chargers to it. "Very well, Bull. Just take care not to destroy anything while you're taking care of these pests."

Sighing, she walked away from the armory, defeated. She had to find a new place to read.

* * *

Apparently, her room was the only bit of peace and quiet in the entirety of Skyhold.

No matter where she went, everywhere was either occupied or only appeared to be suitable up until she cracked open the book and got interrupted by someone barging in for some reason. She'd tried everywhere, from the small room that led into and out of the top floor of the tavern (she kept having this strange feeling that she was being watched), the stables above Blackwall (the stench of the horses began to become unbearable, and she wondered not for the first time just how Blackwall was even able to stand it in the first place), and even the war room which was most always unoccupied save for during war councils.

And last she checked, Bull's troops still have yet to completely purge the armory of rats to a level that she was convinced that a rat wouldn't try and interrupt her while she was trying to read. To her credit, she was very close to insisting that Bull had gotten them all, that is, until a mother of a rat the size of a small dog scampered across and bit Bull's ankle before running back into the darkness.

Needless to say, the Seeker was at her wit's end. All she wanted to do was read her book. This blasted, awful, smutty, disgraceful, terrific, exhilarating book.

Book. Books. Library! Cassandra nearly hit herself because of how obvious that solution was. The library, of course! It was full of books and yes, people, but mostly people needing to read books. People would likely ask what she was reading, yes, as she had never really spent that much time in the library at Skyhold before except to speak with some of the others, but it wouldn't look all that out of the ordinary for someone to be reading a book in the library. All she had to do was disguise the cover of _Swords and Shields_ somehow, and she was set.

It didn't take her all that long to find herself in the library, and the usual suspects were there already. Dorian was reclining in a chair examining some records that appeared to be related to the Tevinter Imperium. They exchanged slight nods in greeting but otherwise said nothing else. Researcher Helisma and her assistant were busy mulling over the latest bits of data that the Inquisitor's findings helped them produce.

Cassandra quickly located an unoccupied chair tucked away behind a couple of shelves and sat down. She pulled out _Swords and Shields_ and began to read from where she'd last left off. Despite the interruptions, she still managed to squeeze out the rest of Part 1 and had begun to start on Part 2.

_Freedom's air never felt so brisk and liberating to her, though that might have simply been her state of undress. She felt that she should be feeling embarrassed, but at this point, all she cared about was the fact that shackles no longer bound her to the wall. Not even those thugs' dried, specked blood on her knuckles seemed to bother her. _

_Beside her, her faithful companion and confidant Watchman Marianne examined the cliff's edge. Her heart felt indebted to her for saving her, but at the same time, she felt foolish. It didn't do well for the Knight-Captain to be saved by someone who was technically her subordinate. However, this time and this time only, she was willing to make an exception to the rules._

_Marianne had been her partner when they first joined the guard together, and while Marianne really had no one else but herself to blame for her distant demotion from Knight-Patroller back to a mere Watchman, Anita still treasured their friendship._

_Her bare arms wrapped around Marianne's armored chest and she pressed her face against her friend's back. "Marianne... Thank you... I honestly can't thank you enough for your help. If you hadn't showed up in time... I don't know what would have happened. What can I ever do to repay you?"_

_"Well," Marianne murmured softly as she turned to face her friend. "You can start by stop reading out loud. Seriously, Seeker, I'm surprised the entire keep can't hear you. Helloooo, Seeker? Are you listening?"_

"Cassandra!" At the mention of her name, the Seeker in question almost jumped out of her skin and slammed the book shut.

She looked up, still a bit startled, and groaned when she saw who it was that had interrupted her this time and then groaned some more when she realized she had lost her place. "Damnit, Varric!" she seethed before she saw Dorian across the roundabout glaring at them both, holding a finger to his lips to shush them. She lowered her voice and continued. "I was trying to read."

"I could see, and hear. I was on my way to bug Nightingale about something I needed shipped out when I could hear you narrating my book." It took all of Cassandra's discipline to keep from kicking the dwarf in his big, stupid, smug face. Varric crossed his arms and stared at her in continued amusement. "So, you enjoying?"

Cassandra let out a small sigh. "Yes. And no."

"Oh?" Varric asked curiously.

"I haven't been able to get too far into it. I just keep getting interrupted. I even tried to hide behind the Inquisitor's throne, like some little girl playing hide and seek, but then I was stuck unable to read or escape because the Inquisitor started a bloody trial right while I was reading!"

Varric let out a hardy laugh, which then earned another disparaging _shush_ from Dorian. The dwarf waved at him apologetically before turning back to Cassandra. "Right in the middle of a trial? Oh the depths that you will sink to, Seeker. I thought you were better than this."

The Seeker brought her knees up to her chest and tried to hide her face behind them. "I thought so too... But this book... How is it that I am able to hate you so much, to sometimes want nothing more than to toss you off Skyhold's Atrium just to see how far you would go, and then the next, I'm literally aching to read more of your blasted book?

Varric chuckled quietly. "Why aren't you just reading in your room then?"

"I tried... First, I was called to a war council meeting, and then, when I get back, my room became infested with rats."

"Ah, the rats got to you too, huh?" Varric muttered. "Don't feel too bad. They got into my ink and now I have to order some more from Leliana."

Cassandra laughed quietly. "I suppose that would be an issue for you."

Varric nodded. "Well, on that note, Seeker, I'll leave you to it." He offered her a slight, cordial bow and began to walk off. Cassandra began to settle herself back in to read before Varric suddenly turned back and cracked another one of his smug grins. "Man, I can't wait until Hawke gets a load of this."

The Seeker was on her feet instantly. "Don't you DARE say a word about this to that fiend!" she roared, eyes alight with promises of tiny, dwarf-sized death and destruction.

From the other side of the Atrium Library, Dorian too jumped to his feet, staff in hand and alight with powerful fire magic. "If you two don't mind?" he seethed between gritted teeth. Cassandra and Varric stared at each other, then to Dorian, and then back to each other before settling on the ground. "It's as if you southern savages were never educated on proper library etiquette? Do I need to put up a sign saying 'Let's please be respectful and quiet in the library?'" With a huff, he sat back down and resumed his reading. "Honestly."

The Seeker and the dwarf shared another look before departing. Cassandra, having suffered enough indignities for today, decided that this was as good as it was going to get and began to flip through her book. As she was searching, however, she felt something nudge her foot. Looking up, she noticed a housecat-sized rat sniffing at her boot, most likely deciding on whether or not it was edible. With not so much as a bit of hesitation, she kicked her foot out and sent the rat sailing over the railing and back down to the first floor.

From now on, nothing was going to stop her from finishing this damn chapter.

* * *

**A little bit shorter than my previous ones. I hope you all enjoyed regardless! Please, leave a review or shoot me a message and let me know what you thought of this chapter and what you'd like to see in future chapters! See you next week (and on time this time, I promise)!**


	5. Calibrations

**Back again with another chapter! Ideas from my end are starting to become harder to come by, but this one was inspired by me picking up DA:I again to play around for a bit. There's a little easter egg that can be heard when idle long enough on the War Table that shows that Commander Cullen shares a hobby with another certain Bioware character.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

The War Council was gathered around the ornate war table, as had become their daily routine for the last few months since they had occupied Skyhold. It was just one of the many routine tasks that they had set up for themselves, in order to stave off the creeping fear that Corypheus could show up once again and tear down everything that they have worked so hard to achieve.

They all had their reports, but each member had specific tasks that only they could be trusted to deal with. Josephine had the royals and nobles, that sniveling lot of robes that threw around their influence and clout as if it were grains of rice. After dealing with the Orlesian Court back at Halamshiral, the Inquisitor found himself siding with the Red Jennies' perspective a bit more. Apart from that, though, she typically dealt with the several visiting dignitaries and political envoys that arrived like clockwork every hour, on the hour.

Leliana had her agents' assignments, but she also was in charge of every single one of those blasted birds that had taken up residence in the Rookery's atrium. How she was able to withstand the cacophony of noise that echoed in there for several hours every day was beyond the Inquisitor's knowledge and understanding. What he did know, though, was that those birds were critical to the war effort. Field agents were great and often served as reliable messengers, but those birds served as a vital communications system which often went where her agents typically could not.

And of course, there was Commander Cullen, who headed the Inquisition's forces and supervised their supplying and training. Out of all of them, the Inquisition would gather that Cullen had the most immediately stressful job, as his worries clearly present every time an issue arose. Josephine wouldn't know if a batch of gossip was bad or Leliana know that her spy had been compromised until well after the fact, and then it becomes a salvage operation. For Cullen, he had to constantly stay on top of the situation in order to ensure that things don't go wrong, and when they inevitably do anyways, turn things back around.

Lately, however, his focus had turned away from the various campaigns across southern Thedas. With Corypheus' forces being pushed out of every major region, he had become more concerned with Skyhold's defense. And by concerned, it was about to become clear to the Inquisitor that the man was obsessed.

"Inquisitor," Cullen asked during a lull in conversation, "you were out on the ramparts the other day, were you not? What was your opinion of our fortifications?"

The Inquisitor thought carefully for a moment before replying. "Your patrols seem quite adequate. And the emplacements of the siege engines should cover the entire valley below. Why, is there something wrong?"

Cullen seemed to visibly squirm as he looked out the window. "The trebuchets... They've been giving me issues, lately."

From across the table, Leliana rolled her eyes. "Oh here we go again."

The Inquisitor looked from Cullen to Leliana and then back to Cullen. "What's wrong with the trebuchets? Leliana makes it seem as if this isn't the first time you've brought this up.

If possible, Cullen began to look even more uncomfortable. Leliana decided to answer for him. "He's been going on about those blasted trebuchets for some time now. It wasn't that bad before, but now, with nearly the entire Inquisition out on campaign, he seems to have developed a bit of paranoia regarding those machines."

"They're not just machines, Leliana," Cullen replied sharply. "They are our first line of defense against Corypheus and his forces when, not if, they decide to come here to try and take out the Inquisition." The former Templar turned to face the Inquisitor. "With our armies stomping them out across the land, he'll soon run out of places to run to except here. And while that would be ideal for him to be forced to take the fight to us, I want to make sure that we are prepared for it."

The Inquisitor digested this information for a bit and nodded, gesturing for Cullen to proceed. "So then what's wrong with the trebuchets?"

"They need... calibration."

"Calibration?"

"Yes."

"What for? The trebuchets seemed to be spaced out perfectly as far as I could tell."

"And therein lies the problem," Leliana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "The trebuchets are spaced out fine. The placement is perfect, or as perfect as we can get them."

Cullen began to protest. "But it's the range! I know I can get more range out of them."

"Cullen, we've been over this. Near every week, you complain that you need to inspect those damn trebuchets to ensure they're in optimal condition, otherwise, they'll lose range."

Josephine, who had up until this point remained silent, seized her chance and chimed in after Leliana. "And you've had me bring in several skilled and _expensive _engineers from Orlais to Orzammar who I have on good authority as saying that the Inquisition currently owns the furthest firing trebuchets ever seen."

The Inquisitor could see that Cullen was beginning to feel frustrated at getting ganged up on and decided to put an end to the discussion before it got out of hand. "Cullen, how about we go look at those trebuchets later today? You can show me what you're talking about, and then I'll recommend a course of action to the rest of the council."

Cullen, for his part, seemed to agree to this and at the Inquisitor's urging, they returned to their meeting.

* * *

As agreed, the Inquisitor and Cullen met later in the afternoon for a test-firing of one of Skyhold's trebuchets. The sky was a crisp, clear blue, and the weather was perfect. There was hardly even a gust of wind to be felt. It was perfect target practice weather. And yet, Cullen seemed troubled and eyed the trebuchet with consternation as a pair of soldiers turned the crank to wind it up.

"Alright Cullen. Let's see what you mean by range," said the Inquisitor before he nodded to the soldiers to load up the giant boulder they used for heavy munitions. "Ready? Fire!"

One of the soldiers pulled the lever on the trebuchet and the rope holding the sling down went slack. All of the stored up energy shot out like a spring as the trebuchet's main arm flung upright, and the boulder in the sling went sailing high into the sky. The Inquisitor's mouth went slack as his eyes followed the boulder's trajectory into the sky. When it finally hit the ground, the Inquisitor wouldn't have been able to tell were it not for a tiny puff of kicked up dirt and other debris from the boulder's impact.

"Cullen," the Inquisitor said after taking a moment to collect himself, "that was amazing! I don't see what's wrong with the range! If only we had those trebuchets at Haven! I bet we could have hit Corypheus' archdemon out of the sky."

To the Inquisitor's confusion, all that Commander Cullen could respond to that with was a sigh. He wordlessly held his hand out towards one of the soldiers manning the trebuchet, who took that as his cue to deliver to him a brass, handheld spyglass. Cullen extracted the spyglass out to its full length who handed it over to the Inquisitor and pointed in the direction that the round had made impact. "See for yourself."

The Inquisitor accepted the spyglass and stared skeptically at Cullen for a moment. Seeing that he would not be receiving any explanation that the spyglass wouldn't provide, he put the object up to one of his eyes and searched for where the boulder had cratered the ground. "Alright... I see it..."

"Now look a bit further past it."

Doing so, the Inquisitor could not believe his eyes. There were crater impacts further than the one that had landed. There seemed to be plenty more, perhaps even dozens more. And all around the impact area of the boulder were several more craters. The Inquisitor brought the spyglass away from his eyes and stared out at the valley in disbelief.

"Cullen, just how many times have you test fired these things!?"

The commander remained silent, coughing nervously to himself. Unfortunately for him, one of his own soldiers chose that moment to betray him. "Your Worship, the Commander usually has us out here as a part of our daily training regimen. In the mornings, we go out and retrieve the boulders. From the early afternoon to the evening, we spend the whole time firing them. Then we do it all over again."

Cullen glared at the soldier for speaking out of turn, but the Inquisitor stepped into his rescue. "You've fired these things that much? I thought it was only a weekly affair?"

Cullen's cheeks colored at that and he set his teeth. "I... Well... Every week, we make some progress, after much insistence from me, but nearly not enough."

"What, pray tell, is enough, Cullen?" asked the Inquisitor pointedly. "Because I highly doubt you can get them to hit Val Royeaux from here, if that's what you're wanting."

The commander shook his head, "No, of course not Inquisitor. I understand that." The man sighed. "Believe me, Inquisitor. Deep in my gut, I have this feeling that these trebuchets can do so much more. They just need a tiny bit more calibration, and then I'll be satisfied."

The Inquisitor threw up his hands as if in surrender. "Now I'm beginning to understand what Leliana means. What more could you possibly calibrate at this point?"

Cullen took a defiant stance and gestured towards the crater-marked valley. "A couple of months ago and that wouldn't have been possible. Now, it is the standard. Just think, Inquisitor, what more could be achieved?" As he spoke, he began to stare at his slowly rising hands, as if they themselves held the possibilities of the future of battlefield artillery.

A tense moment passed between them, the silence broken up only by the usual background noise of activity that characterized life in Skyhold. In that moment, the Inquisitor took the time to look the commander over. There were bags under the man's eyes. His eyes seemed a tad unfocused, almost sleepy. His physique hardly seemed any different, but underneath all that armor, who could tell? That aside, the Inquisitor didn't remember seeing Cullen at dinner the last few nights.

Finally, the Inquisitor sighed and put his hand on Cullen's shoulder. "Cullen. Maybe you should... take a break? Let someone else deal with this whole calibrations thing while you, I don't know, manage the rest of the army?"

The commander let out a sigh in kind and let his head hang low. "Perhaps I've... become a bit obsessed with this whole thing. No, you're absolutely right. I shall not let my inability to get more out of these damned machines keep me from my other duties." He slammed a fist down into an open palm. "Thank you, Inquisitor. For setting my priorities straight."

With that, Cullen turned on his heel and walked off, presumably in the direction of the war room though the Inquisitor would rather it be Cullen's personal quarters, to rest. Honestly, the man works harder than most anyone else in the Inquisition. Still, at least that was settled. At the same time, though, the Inquisitor's curiosity had been piqued... He made for the tavern. There were a couple people he knew that might be able to succeed where Cullen had failed.

* * *

Not too long afterwards, and back on the ramparts stood Iron Bull and Varric. They had been given a very special task by the Inquisitor: using their combined tactical and engineering knowledge, they were to see just how much more range they could get out of these trebuchets, starting with this one. And while they were skeptical at first, a demonstration like the one Cullen had given the Inquisitor earlier was enough to convince them that maybe there was something to the commander's strange obsession after all.

On the other hand, it could just be that the former Templar had finally lost his marbles and that there was really nothing else to change. This became more and more evident throughout the afternoon as the hours ticked by and yet no progress had been made.

Varric lowered the spyglass from his eyes and handed it over to Bull. "Sorry, Tiny, but shortening the rope didn't do much for it. It landed just about around the same place as the first one."

Iron Bull let out a low growl under his breath as he put the spyglass up this eye to verify. "Damn. Well, shortening it didn't help. Lengthening it _won't_ help." The Qunari scratched his chin in thought before looking over at Varric. "Are you sure you don't want to get in?"

Balking, Varric yelled back at Bull. "That's not funny, Tiny!"

"Oh, come on! It'll be fun! Think of all the fame you'll get if you ever go to Orzammar? 'Hi, I'm Varric, the world's first flying dwarf!' Would make for a killer introduction."

"In case you forget, I'm famous enough as it is. What with the whole 'I write books' thing I got going for me."

"Touche."

They stood together in silence for a moment as the soldiers finished readying the trebuchet. After a moment, one of the soldiers reported to them that they were finished readying it and were ready to fire. Iron Bull approached the trebuchet and inspected it for a moment. He frowned slightly when he saw that the crank wasn't nearly tight enough. He sighed internally, knowing that it was just the humans getting tired, after all. "Let's see if we can't get it tighter," he murmured as his large hands reached out to grab the crank.

Before either Varric or the two soldiers could stop him, Varric began to turn the crank. "Almost... there..." he muttered as he slowed the rate at which he was turning the crank, mindful not to turn too far otherwise it would-

_-CRACK-_

The sound of something awful mechanically was punctuated by the trebuchet's arm fling forward and chucking its load across the valley. In Bull's hand was the arming crank, forcibly separated from whatever it had been attached to further inside the trebuchet. Varric's palm covered his face as he began walking down to the next trebuchet. Bull sighed dejectedly and dropped the broken crank alongside what was the fourth in a series of trebuchet's that he and Varric had managed to break.

Cullen was not going to like this when he found out.

After walking in shameful silence to the next trebuchet, Bull suggested, "Maybe if we changed the type of rocks?"

"Maybe you should stop breaking trebuchets."

"Hey, the one before this was your fault."

The rogue rolled his eyes as he leaned against the rampart, watching the two soldiers ready and load this latest trebuchet. "So, change the rocks... to what? Heavier rocks? Smaller rocks? Oh, maybe we should just add more rocks and count the one that goes furthest?"

"Don't get snarky, Varric," Bull replied. "It was just a suggestion. Like, maybe if we could get the rocks to be lighter... but still hit just as hard as the heavier rocks."

Varric looked up at Bull with a bit of feigned concern. "I think this whole thing's starting to get to you, Tiny. I mean, did you just hear what you said? Lighter, harder hitting rocks? It's a rock. It's either heavy or light."

Bull ignored Varric as he eyed the stack of boulders they were using for munitions. "No, hold on. Think about it. You're heavy, right Varric?"

"... Is that some Qunari way of calling me fat?"

"Now don't get all sentimental on me. What I mean is, you're more or less the same size as one of these boulders. But compared to it, you're still lighter." Iron Bull began walking over to the munitions stock pile and easily lifted up a dwarf-sized boulder. He hefted it up and down experimentally. "Way I see it, we've been firing these things for the last while now and nothing's really been changed except for the trebuchet. But maybe that's it. Maybe the machine's fine. Maybe... we need to change the type of rocks?"

"Hmm," Varric murmured as he walked up next to Bull and placed a hand on the boulders. "Well, look, we can't just keep breaking these things," he then said pointedly as he glanced at the trio of broken trebuchets laying unused on the ramparts.

Bull turned the boulder in his hands this way and that. "I bet that if I were to throw this boulder..." He then looked down at Varric with an expression that made the dwarf a little uneasy. "And then if I were to throw you, I bet that this boulder would go further. Why do you think that is, Varric?"

The dwarf took a distrustful step away from the Qunari. "Hell if I know! But this better not end up with me sitting in the sling of that machine, or someone's going to be losing another eye."

Iron Bull let out a hardy laugh and dropped the boulder back in the pile. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll come around one of these days. But what do you think, Varric?"

"Well," Varric began, "I bet that you're probably right. Same thing if I threw a piece of paper the size of one of those rocks. Rock's heavier, it'll go farther. Don't see what you're getting at, though."

Iron Bull took another look at the trebuchet. "The Qunari had stopped using siege weapons like these ages ago. Instead, we use cannons, like the ones on on our dreadnoughts, to take down enemy fortifications. Those cannons don't use giant boulders like these, but are able to shoot farther and faster using a much smaller, compact ball. Maybe Cullen was looking at this wrong the whole time. What we need isn't a new machine. We just need a new type of rock."

A voice from further down the ramparts interrupted their back and forth. "As loathe as I am to admit, it seems that you southerners are actually on to something," Dorian said as he joined the two non-humans over by the munitions cache. "The Imperium has actually been looking into this concept for some time now, about increasing the weight of an object in order to make the projectile go further. But, allow me to add something else."

The two turned their attention to the Tevinter mage as he used his magic to lift one of the smaller rocks. "To add weight, some people think that you would have to just make it bigger, but really, that's not true. Like you were saying before, Bull, Varric is about the same size as this boulder but he weighs far less in comparison. In the Imperium, this is what we call 'mass.'"

Iron Bull shot Varric a sly look. "Heh, nice mass, Varric."

"Shut it, Tiny."

"Children, please," Dorian interrupted. "Now then. Mass is essentially the presence of weight with disregard to size. Like your example with the cannon balls, Iron Bull. A rock of the same size would not weigh nearly as much, and if fired from one of your cannons, providing it doesn't destroy it and that it fires from it at all, would not to as far as a cannon ball."

Varric nodded. "Alright, Sparkles, you've got a point. So what do you suggest we do then?"

"Simply put? Just because we are unable to gain access to Qunari explosive powder and are thus stuck with trebuchets, it doesn't mean we can't use their cannon balls, or at least, the concept of them. I recommend we smelt whatever scrap metal is laying around into a boulder-sized metal ball, and then we see just how far it can go."

* * *

Later that night, the Inquisitor sat in his quarters reading a particularly interesting report. A little before dinner time, Cullen had grabbed the Inquisitor and all but dragged him up to the ramparts when they found not four, but five trebuchets laying useless and broken. Each were in varying degrees of disrepair, but all added up to one thing.

There were currently three members of the Inquisition banned from approaching any complicated equipment machinery around Skyhold ever again. There was also an hour of the Inquisitor's life that he would never get back because he had spent it consoling a heartbroken Cullen, who kept murmuring that even after they replaced the trebuchets, he'd have ensure that they were all properly calibrated all over again.

Upon reading the report, the Inquisitor gathered that the first four were entirely Iron Bull and Varric's fault. The last one, however, was written with far less vitrol and anger, despite it being Dorian's fault. It seemed that the fifth trebuchet broke because the weight was too heavy for the arm to safely throw, and after the arm snapped, the project, a hastily cobbled together ball of scrap metal the size of a modest boulder, came crashing down and all but crushed the trebuchet under its weight.

The praising part of the report came when explaining why, exactly, Dorian had several hundred pounds of ruined swords, irreparable armor, and general scrap metal smelted into a giant cannon ball. The report detailed what the Tevinter concept of "mass" was and explained that Dorian believed that if they couldn't affect the acceleration by making the projectile travel faster and farther mechanically, then they should change the projectile's "mass."

Cullen had run this concept by Helisma, Skyhold's resident researcher, who believed that this could be the beginning of something technologically world changing. Though the idea so far did not quite have an official name to it, Helisma did suggest that it should be named not on the bumbling inventors of the idea but instead on what it did: that it would take into consideration an objects mass on its effects in trajectory.

The Inquisitor set down the report of the destruction of the five trebuchets and picked up Helisma's findings on what she wished to be called "The Mass Effect."

* * *

**Alright, go ahead and lynch me for this chapter, specifically my attempt at bringing it all together at the end. I honestly deserve. Nowhere near my best work, but I think it's a good sign that I might want to start wrapping this story up before it gets stale. Either way, I couldn't resist not throwing in a chapter about Cullen and his calibrations, but after the first section, I admittedly ran out of steam and decided to go with a more slapstick approach.**

**Anyways, please let me know what you think of it. Maybe I'm just being too hard on myself, or maybe I'm not being hard enough. I will say, though, that I'm going to take the next week off to recharge, so you'll be getting another chapter in two weeks instead of one. I'll see you then!**


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